


Loving the Dried Roses

by Anonymous



Category: Actor RPF, The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Named Reader, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 06:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You're highly aware of your friend's sexual escapades, you just aren't aware that they extend to middle-aged men. It's not the most conventional, but you aren't in any position to judge. You only wish that Arianna is more considerate when it comes to her private affairs, especially when she begins to bring said partners home. That’s where you meet Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He’s attractive, charming, and enough trouble as is being Arianna's one-night stand.





	Loving the Dried Roses

You have the unfortunate circumstances of splitting the apartment bills with a nymphomaniac. Perhaps that’s exaggerating it by a stretch but true nonetheless. To be honest, you can care less who she invites between her legs. The problem is when she starts inviting them into her bed, which also happens to be where you live, in case that fact was overlooked.

In the past, Arianna would come home at the oddest hours, and sometimes she wouldn't come home at all until days later. Whether you liked it or not, you often worried about her; you didn’t know the kind of men she slept with, you didn’t know her whereabouts, and you didn’t know if she would run into trouble. After a while you grew to take her outrageous behavior into stride when she proved to know what she was doing and safely came home after each outing. It was when Arianna decided to limit her outings to one night stands where she started _bringing_ men home instead.

Well, you’ve tolerated her for the past four years and are still going; there’s no point in running away. Unfortunately, you don’t have anywhere to go if you decide to up and leave. You’d rather not return to home, as much as you love your family; you’re just sick of lonely Colorado. New York is definitely more your pace and style. Moreover, as much as you hate to admit it, you’ve grown an unlikely attachment to Arianna. Who knows where she’ll end up if you leave her to her own devices.

So you’ll turn a blind eye to Arianna’s sexual adventures. They haven’t proved to be an inconvenience to you, yet. . .Except tonight, that is, of all nights. It’s a goddamn Sunday night, you need to wake up at five for your daily run, then leave by seven because you have a job that will feed and keep the roof over your head, and it’s fucking 3 in morning when you hear incessant pounding on your front door. You lie in bed, thoughts still hazy and piecing together why you’ve been disturbed but soon remember Arianna decided to let loose the night before Monday to get drunk at some bar and possibly hook up with a man who won’t even remember her name. You’ve half the mind to ignore her, because you really need your sleep, but she might punch some holes into the door with her unforgiving strikes.

Arianna can go fetch an extra key from the front desk if she’s that desperate, but you know she’d rather bother you about opening the door since your room is located near the entrance than to go four floors down to plead the receptionist for her second key this month. You can always say you fell asleep with your earbuds in, but her knocking is beginning to reverberate the entire complex and you’re not willing to appease neighbors or pay for reconstruction for the entirety, so you unlatch yourself from the comfort of your bed with lethargic mimicry of a sloth and grant access to your roommate. By the time you swing the door open, Arianna is the spitting image of Medusa: eyes dangerously slit and face contorted in a scowl. She looks like she was just violently colliding her face with someone, her makeup smeared every which way and hair tousled so that her curls look enough like wild serpents.

“It’s about time. I know you heard me,” she says, strutting past you. “Ugh, these heels are fucking killing me.”

“Shut up; you have no right to be angry. It’s your fault for losing the key again.” You don’t question how she lost her copy of the apartment key, merely shutting the door with a soft click.

“Damn,” her remark makes you pause in your walk to your bedroom, “someone’s cranky,” she mocks. Instead of replying, you bear a deadpan glare on her, disregarding her assessment of your attire, a simple over-sized tee and panties for sleep. “Mood killer,” she says with a playful smirk, mollifying her earlier behavior with a blown kiss and wink.

You simply blink the same impassive slate in return, her remark making you curious as to where her latest prey is. Grateful you didn’t open the door to Arianna and her lover, not at all happy with the thought of flashing your panties to some stranger, you flee from the scene. You don’t like encountering anyone she shortly adopts for the night. That hits the awkward bar far too close for your liking. With no further comment on the situation, you bid her a goodnight.

“I’ll try not to get too loud. No promises, though.” She giggles, apparently thinking herself funny for all those sleepless nights she’s cost you. Arianna isn’t half the bitch she makes herself out to be; you should know this by now after four years. The blonde woman just has a tendency to act the part of a rogue juvenile when the time calls for it and gets a real kick out of riling you up.  

She returns the goodnight, her way of sincerely thanking you for putting up with her bull and letting her in, and you close your bedroom door. Once plunged into the comfort of the darkness, you curl back into the harvesting warmth in your bed. A simple plug in of your earbuds, some familiar music you know by heart, and you’re eagerly seeking the haven of sleep that welcomes you readily.

* * *

You’re out of bed exactly at 4:30 a.m., done with your morning routine and dressed to run for another thirty. You return and shower with enough spare time to whip up breakfast before you’re out the door at 7:30 a.m. As usual, you prepare to leave Arianna a cup of water with some aspirin on her nightstand for when she wakes. You slip into her room with the stealth of a cat (you’ve gained enough practice from this), absently noting another body beside—wait, no that’s _two_ bodies she’s smothered between. Two men? Wow. You don’t know why you’re as surprised as you are by this considering her sexual appetite. Shaking that revelation away, you place the remedy on her cluttered nightstand, avoiding clothes strewn about.

With that out of the way, you tie on an apron and go on baking homemade breakfast muffins enough for four. Ironically, as much as you avoid Arianna’s lovers like the plague, you still extend some hospitality to them. In a way, it’s your means of appreciation for keeping her safe. You’re humming to yourself, washing the mixing bowls and utensils you’ve used when some time during your cleaning you hear said woman up early (oddly enough) and softly padding toward you. It isn’t like her to be so quiet in the morning, but you believe she must be considering her newest conquests’ still sleeping states, which is still strange for her. Just as you’re turning the heated oven off and taking the muffins out, suspicion sprouting as to why she hasn’t said a word yet, you spin to announce that coffee is just about done brewing, but you startle at the stranger standing at the island counter who is smiling and definitely not your roommate.

You have enough decency to not scream, but clearly not enough to refrain from staring, but who wouldn’t in their right mind be able to resist staring? Before you stands a man (every meaning of the word), a hulking man made of lean muscles and shooting above six feet. He wears a gray button down that isn’t closed at all and some black denims hanging dangerously around his sharp hips because they aren’t zipped or buttoned. Inadvertently, you spot a trail of abdomen hair, and is he wearing anything under those? Atop his head is thick, chestnut hair that curls the slightest, a long face that homes a peppered stubble, and hazel eyes of green and brown with flecks of gold. You think you might still be sleeping, because he looks he may have walked out of a New York model magazine. Thankful for your uncanny skills of perceiving people’s profiles within seconds instead of minutes you gather your scattered thoughts and smile gently, albeit confusedly.

 _He’s. . .old_. The few, sculpted creases along his face and silver at his temple don’t even lessen his looks a bit; rather, it heightens it _._ He must be in his prime. _How in the world did Arianna manage to snag_ this _?_ you fleetingly wonder to yourself. How does the other man look like?

Deciding it wise to not question anything, you set the muffins down and manage enough courage to walk up to the man and offer a petite hand that’s warmed up from the hot muffin tin. You need to crane your head back to be able to properly meet his eyes because you’re only five-four and come to his chin.

“Bella,” you introduce, keeping your eyes on his.

The man’s smile morphs into a rather charming dimpled-smirk, as if he knows the effect he has on people, clasping your hand in both of his much larger and overwhelmingly warmer ones. You fleetingly glance down at the connection, amazed by the size difference and the amount of veins criss-crossing.

“Jeffrey,” he returns, voice just as you imagined: gruff, deep, and reserved.

Alright, enough drooling, time to be civil. “Do you want some aspirin? Coffee?” You’re already backing away to bring said items, desperately needing to be away from his seductive smile, intense eyes, and overall dominating presence. You aren't exactly comfortable here, especially with his intimidating aura, but you don’t want to be impolite and run away. You’ve already introduced yourself, so you might as well stick this out until you have to leave.

He leans on his pronounced forearms on the marble counter, stomach and biceps rippling. “Nah, I’m good on the aspirin, but I’d take that offer on coffee, ” he says, the slightest city drawl lacing his words and just adding to his magnetism.

You shrug, setting up a tray with mugs, sugar, and creamer by the coffee machine. “If you insist; no need to be shy.” You internally wince at the unintended double entendre. Your socializing skills aren’t the most spectacular, so you often spew out unintentional humor or wit to strangers when you’re struggling to mingle.

His chuckle is a rumbling hum that vibrates from his chest, a kind of cello sound. “Oh, believe me, I'm far from shy, darlin’.”

You ignore the pet name, catching him run his thick fingers through his mass of hair that’s artistically messy. Jeffrey suddenly peers at you from beneath his dark lashes, a near smoldering look, but you know he doesn’t mean anything by it, at least you hope not. What's worse than your friend’s leftovers trying to hit on you? That’s way past the awkward mark. Rather than allow him to take control of the conversation, you give into the little competitive flame you usually keep under control and plow on with your witty comebacks.

“Hm, you could have fooled me,” you say with a conspicuous glance to his chest. He breathes out a laugh while you spin to check on the breakfast muffins stationed on a cooling rack. You should really shut up now, because you sound like a flirt, which is not your intention, but you can’t stop it. Everything that he says, you have a quip to snap at him.

His brow rises sharply, amused grin playing his lips, and he asks, “Should I cover up then?” Immediately, you hate the way his words drip at a molasses pace, measured and deliberate, giving his voice more of a rasp.

“Oh, no need to cater to me. It’s not as if Arianna doesn’t bring enough men home for me to have seen dozens of naked torsos to last my life. There’s a slight draft in here, though, just a warning. Muffin?” You say without a hitch, and he’s grinning wildly, unable to tear his eyes from yours. You’re surprised you can even keep a schooled face, his smile seemingly infectious, but you remain strong.

“Alright, what kinda muffins you got?” He rubs his jaw, glancing at the tray.

“Edible ones.”

That’s the spark to the flame and he’s guffawing. You only manage a shadow of a smile, unable to believe you’re still here, and with Arianna’s lover of all people. With a shake of your head, you carefully extract each muffin from their individual holding cup while the man collects himself. You should leave after this. While you secretly revel in being able to elicit mirth from him, you’d rather not get tangled with Arianna’s business. You have nothing against the men or her, you just prefer not to get involved with some man who’s slept with someone you know and see on a day-to-day basis. Nothing gets worse than that.

“So,” you offer him a steaming muffin on a plate with a silver fork, “are you hungry or not? These muffins won’t eat themselves.”

He takes the proffered plate and says, “Fucking starving,” eyes twinkling. The innuendo isn’t missed. Time for work.

You take one for yourself in a napkin before making your getaway, trying not to give him the satisfaction of showing how nervous you actually are by rushing. “Help yourselves to as much coffee and muffins as you want. Take care of Arianna for me.”

He follows you to the hallway, watching you tap in your heels. “Of course.” You think you detect the slightest disappointment, but that’s unlikely.

“It was nice meeting you, Jeffrey.” You dazzle him with a final smile and take off before he can get another word in, making it clear you don’t expect to see him again.

* * *

Arianna is usually home before you, already preparing dinner. With the type of woman she is, you’re surprised she even knows how to cook at all. You aren’t any less thankful, though, especially when you’ve had overtime and do not want to move an inch. As soon as the clock hits five, you’re bolting out to your car, eagerly awaiting to strip out of your tights and heels in exchange for shorts and slippers.

You trek down the corridor, singing Hallelujah under your breath and basking in the pleasant echo it gives your voice. Your singing gains volume as you slip inside your apartment, and by the time you step into the entrance, you’re shamelessly vocalizing while kicking your heels off.

“She tied you to her kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the—”

Air lodges into your throat when you walk into the open kitchen on a mission to quench your thirst and see Arianna comfortably wedged between two men, one you’ve yet to acquaint with and the other being Jeffrey who now sports a pair of thick-framed glasses, the trio casually watching TV. Jeffrey’s appropriately dressed this time, his gray top properly buttoned, jean jacket over that, and the same denims. It’s a rather youthful style, yet it’s absolutely fitting for his rugged looks. They stare at you with varying degrees of amusement: Jeffrey with an arched brow, Arianna with a smirk, and the stranger with a winning smile.

“Welcome home, Bell,” she sings, fingers wiggling in greeting.

You’re still cemented where you stand, muscles pulled taut and wearing a carefully blank face. This is different, a kind of different you don’t appreciate. Arianna can bring men home, and as long as they're gone by the time you’re up or home you don’t care. Since when did she decide keeping them over was a good idea? And it doesn’t help they look old enough to be her fathers, their good looks aside.

Your audience is still awaiting for your response, you realize. So with a clear sigh, you sag your shoulders in partial defeat, a hand scraping through your hair to rid of its tight bun to alleviate your headache some. Ash brown strands tumble down in loose curls, and you’re extremely conscious of the way the men devote their crushing attention on you as you comb through the soft tangles. Jeffrey gnaws the inside corner of his lip just the slightest, his friend slices his tongue over his lips, propelling you to avert your gaze. You can feel it in the air, that damnable pleasure splitting their faces.

“Arianna, can we talk for a sec.” It’s not a question, and she has the gall to widen her smirk. You wait, thoroughly unimpressed when she kisses both men on their scruffy cheek before joining you. You, on the other hand, completely disregard their existence altogether as you lead Arianna to your room, feeling their eyes roaming your entire back as if they were hands. Once in the confines, you corner her.

“Explain why they still here,” you say, unleashing your temper from its cage.

She shrugs, still with that shit-eating grin. “Can't a girl have some company?”

“You already had their company. Last night in your bed,” you hiss, setting your purse down and undressing. “You know I already hate it when you bring men home. Yes, I'd rather you do that than disappear without a trace, but you agreed to keep it a one night stand and just that. And I can't believe you’d go that old! I mean, look at them; they must be in their fifties or something.”

“It was a one night stand. We obviously aren’t fucking now, are we? And they aren’t old, they’re middle-aged. Men are like fine wine—they get better with age, especially them. ” She dramatically fans herself, fake swooning. “Besides, what's wrong with having them stay over for a bit? I really hit it off with them, not just sex wise. Even if they are fantastic in—”

“That isn’t the point,” you cut in. “If you want to have an after party, go ahead, but do it at their place. You know I don't like associating with your lovers. I want nothing to do with your sex life.”

She snorts. “That's not what Jeff said.” You immediately lock up and Arianna knows she’s hit the marker. “He told me you were pretty funny.” You can hear the slyness in her voice. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you enjoyed talking with him.”

“Shut up.” That’s immature of you to say, but she did catch you on that one. Your nape is hotter than the New York high-noon sun right now, and you struggle to not throw a lamp at her infuriating teenage-giggling. “Look, I left you some aspirin, like usual, and when I went back out to make breakfast I heard someone get up. Naturally, I thought it was you. I honestly did not want to talk with him, but you really think I’d be rude enough to bolt as soon as I realized it wasn't you?”

She looks unconvinced. “With how adamant you are about this whole bringing-men-home thing, uh, yeah, kinda. I'm surprised you even bothered with him. But I don’t blame you; he’s sex on legs, I swear. Mm. That scruff gives it that little oomph, especially when he’s eating—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will throw your velvet heels in the dumpster.”

She dramatizes a gasp, hand clutching over her heart, as if you just told her her puppy got ran over. “You wouldn't dare!”

Obviously, she doesn’t realize how serious you are. Even if you really won’t sabotage her belongings, you will threaten her to get your point across. Although, you wouldn’t mind ridding her of those heels; they’re atrocious things. “Oh, I will. Now, tell your friends to leave or I'm including your favorite lingerie set in that list,” you dully warn.

“Bella, please!” The blonde woman flings her arms around your naked torso, as you’re still in nothing but your bra and panties. “They’re really sweet guys. Well, they look badass and are badass, but they can be genuinely nice. I honestly enjoyed their company, not just in bed. Just let it slide this once; I promise I won't let it happen again.” She sticks her bottom lip out, creasing her brows, and whimpers.

You remain stoned-face, despite the temptation; however, you’ve never heard her say this about the men she’s previously slept with. You guess it is different this time. She isn’t really one to beg either. You scrutinize her with hawk eyes, glazing over her desperate poise. When you finally sigh after a strained minute, she glows instantly. “Just this once, you got it? Once. I won't hesitate to kick you out the next time.”

Arianna squeals without qualms, suffocating you in a jumping hug. “You’re the best!” she exclaims before skipping out, only to stop at the door. “Oh, and, could you maybe cook for tonight?” She flutters her lashes at you, already knowing you’ll say yes, because sometimes you’re too nice for your own good.

You groan but let her know you will. After all, she’s usually the one who cooks dinner, so you'll give her the break she deserves. Once she shuts your door, you slip into high-waisted denim shorts and a cream top, throwing your hair into a careless bun. Satisfied with your comfier setting, you slip out to the hallway and pause when you hear Arianna animatedly chatting with the men, her voice clear and high as spring robins in the morning, their voice so deep and mellow that you can only distinguish a rumble when either men reply, like thunder in the distance.

You step into the kitchen, see Jeffrey’s back to you as he’s fetching a cup of water for himself, nearly have a heart attack with his sudden appearance, and try evading him. Too bad that doesn't last even a second. The man angles toward you as soon as you’re in sighting range while looking for an apron in the storage closet.

“Evening, Miss Bella,” he says.

Not one to display impolite manners, even if you don’t want to socialize with him at all, you offer the same smile you left him with, a plastic beam. “Glad to see you again, Mr Jeffrey.” You can breathe again when Arianna calls for him to return to her side and he complies, not looking away until he has to turn. Shortly after he’s seated to Arianna’s left, you call out to him, “I wasn't expecting you to be here for dinner.”

He shrugs, strong hand tipping the glasses off his face and letting them dangle between his fingers over the couch arm. “What can I say? You got me hooked with the muffins. I couldn't just let this opportunity go, now could I?” His hazel eyes are rimmed with sin as they bore into you.

“That would just be rude,” you say, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

“Told you she was a funny little thing,” Jeffrey rasps over Arianna’s blonde locks to his friend, who you’ve completely forgot about. It seems he’s witnessed the whole exchange, if the amusement painting his face is any indication.

He quirks a smile, and you feel the same vibe from him as from Jeffrey. Oh, boy. “She’s funny alright,” he says, an English accent touching his words. Oh, you’re in trouble. Arianna giggles somewhere in the background, something you don’t think about.

“Hey, what about me?” Arianna jokingly pouts. The men laugh, each pecking her affectionately on her crown.

“Aw, you know we enjoy your sense of humor, too,” Jeffrey reassures, teasing a glance your way when she isn’t looking while his friend’s gaze never leaves yours in the first place. You tense.

Gently clearing your throat, you gain their devout attention, which you already have to begin with. “Why, Jeffrey,” he straightens when hearing his name trickle off your tongue with such sweetness it’s bound to make your mouth water, “you failed to introduce me to your friend.”

Arianna leaps up, seeming to remember something. “Oh, right! Bella, this is Andrew, a friend of Jeff’s. Andrew, Bella. Get along nicely, ‘kay?” She delivers you a mischievous smile, representing much of a little she-demon.

Upon call, Andrew stands and begins stalking toward you. He’s just as brutally handsome as his friend; same lean body build, shorter by a few inches but still towering over you, brown hair that slicks back and curls, ocean-shore eyes, and a whiter stubble. Although his smile is as charming and rugged as Jeffrey’s, he’s a shade gentler. It doesn’t help either way—they’re both way too good looking, twenty-something years your senior, and shouldn’t be this charismatic, dominating, and forbidden.

He offers a hand to you, to which you take without hesitation, not wanting him to know he intimidates you with his mere presence. “Pleasure meeting you, Andrew.” You nod, adding a tight-lipped smile.

You resist the urge to snatch your hand away, his warmth seeping into yours. And when he deliberately brings it to his lips, you feel the prickle of his scruff, the press of his kiss to the softest part of skin that’s embedded between each knuckle, the weight of his eyes that delve far and deep into yours that you want to curl into yourself because you know he can see every bit of you, and you internally shrivel up.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he replies.

You promptly extract your hand from Andrew’s hold, pretending you don’t feel the way his digits drag along your palm as you do or the way they tighten at your fingertips before you completely cut off the contact.

“Well, I wouldn't want to disturb your time with Arianna. I should get cooking,” you implicate the needed space and he leaves.

They talk among themselves and you begin dinner. After a quick rummage, you decide to make creamy, chicken penne pasta. You’re so absorbed in cooking that you begin humming, which escalates to tender singing.

“You got quite a voice.”

You jump, a soft yelp escaping in the process when you nearly cut your fingers while slicing up a loaf of bread. You rip your hand away in alarm at the close call. One too many times you’ve had that happen, and a lot of nails have suffered from luck of missing flesh. You don’t want to make that come true, content with having to trim your nail shorter than the others rather than scarring up your skin.

“Shit. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

You glance over your shoulder to spy Jeffrey much in the same position as this morning, occupying the counter top on his arms and chuckling at your reaction. Based on that smile, you know he enjoyed catching you by surprise, perhaps enjoyed it too much. Somehow, you know this isn’t the end, and you like it even less. Arianna better make this a one-time thing, because you are not involving yourself with older men.

“No worries. Sometimes I get really caught up in my thoughts.” You play it off smoothly, returning to cutting the bread.

Distinctly, you hear him shift, possibly walking toward you, and, essentially, closing the safe distance. Panic bleeds in, flooding through your veins and choking you, but you try to soothe it as best you can. You haven’t clamped up on Jeffrey yet, you won’t be doing so any time soon. In the back of your mind, your conscious is telling you to play the timid mouse, because all your yapping might just be exactly what he’s hungering, and that’s the opposite of what you want.

“Yeah? Whatcha thinking about?” He sounds sincerely interested rather than filling up the silence with small talk.

And, gods, he sounds way too close. “About not cutting my fingers,” you retort, pulling a laugh from him. The damn vibrations of the sound raise the fine hairs on your skin. That's all he’s done so far in your company, laugh, and you’re not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. You’re leaning toward the bad, especially since you haven’t scared him off yet.

“Need any help?”

You wave it off, not wanting him any closer. “Nonsense; you’re our guest. I couldn’t let you help.”

“I’ve been told I’m great help, and I'd love helping you, I insist.”

How fucking close is this man? You don't turn around to find your answer, continuing to present your back to him as you bustle about. That's when you realize how quiet it's gotten. You spin to seek Arianna, only to smack into Jeffrey’s chest. Holy shit, he was that close? You wonder how you didn’t detect his body heat or cologne earlier, because now it's invading your senses.

“Whoa,” you whisper as he reacts immediately, steadying you with his warm hands on your arms. “Uh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he rumbles out, a throaty noise that sounds raspy and rich and, dare you say it, naughty.

You step away to keep your distance, not missing the way he constricts his grip the faintest, as if to prevent you from walking away, but he lets you glide into freedom. That's when you peek around him and notice the empty living room where your roommate and Andrew should be.

“Where's Arianna?” You immediately whip to Jeffrey, not meaning to sound as accusatory as you do. You didn’t hear her say anything to you about leaving, and she usually does.

Sensing your agitation, he finds an excuse to lay his hands on you again, this time one clasping where your shoulder and neck meet, the other taking its place back on your arm. The pads of his fingers surely sink into your skin, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” his smirk is gone, a placating calm gentling his features, “don't worry, Bella, she and Andrew left to get some drinks for dinner.”

Your initial worry gives way to relief then to irritation, a noticeable shift of expression taking place. “Drinks? Really?” You groan, retracting away from Jeffrey’s comforting touch. “It's a Monday night. She was already drinking the night before and ended up bringing you two here.” You stop in your disjointed sawing of the crumbling bread, swiveling to eye him. “Did she even go to work today?” You narrow your eyes for extra measure in an attempt to weed an answer from him.

The man is entertained by your attitude, pink tongue peeking out to flicker across his lips. “You’re cute when angry, you know?” he teases, head lolling to one side and grinning widely.

Unimpressed, you roll your eyes skyward. “Flattery will get you _everywhere_. Now, stop stalling and answer the question,” you say with half-hearted annoyance, pointing the dull end of the bread knife to his heart.

He raises his hands in surrender, more than content to play along. “She called in sick, but don't tell her I said that.”

“Oh, I am so hounding her ass for this!” You toss the knife to the counter and cross your arms under your bust in a rare occurrence of letting your emotions get the better of you. “She knows she needs to stop skipping out on work; she’s a goddamn adult,” you grumble.

He pockets his veiny hands, head still tilted to one side and flashing you his teeth. “Sorry, guess we were too much of a distraction, or perhaps temptation is the appropriate word. If it counts for anything, we were going to leave, but she insisted we stay. We can't help it when a pretty lady says please.” He casts you a look, gouging for your reaction, as if expecting you to be jealous.

“Did she pull the ‘my bed will be cold without you’ while wearing nothing but one of your shirts?” you ask, raising a sharp brow.

“Actually, she hardly moved from bed. It was more of a half-asleep half-awake kind of begging, like in a ‘pity me’ manner.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, you dissolve into laughter, head tossing back to expose your throat, hair shimmering down your back like calm waves, and a rosy blush adorning your face. You don’t notice how Jeffrey is absolutely mesmerized.

“Oh, gods, that's great.” You press a hand to your stomach, a huge smile still on your face. “I’d imagine it's hard,” he grows still, “to resist Arianna. She is very pretty.” You laugh a final time before deciding to return to your task of cooking, not knowing exactly what you said and what you’re doing to him.

“Yeah, definitely fucking hard.” He says, a mere thundering sound under his breath.

“Anyway, I have dinner to cook, so shoo.”

Instead, he remains where he stands, leaning his back on the island as he keeps watch over you. “I’m actually quite comfortable where I am.”

You strain the cooked pasta, whipping your head away from the scorching wall of steam that shoots up in the process. “Anyone ever tell you how much of a smartass you are?”

“No,” he comes up to the sink to turn on some cold tap for the pasta while you set the pot to the side, “they usually say I have—what was it she said?—a well-defined and perky ass.”

The giggle comes out before you can stop it, but you still slap your fingers over your lips, anyway, avoiding eye contact. He lights up at your reaction. Now if only he weren’t so handsome, you might be able to properly converse with the man without unintentionally gaining his interest, but that seems highly unlikely. Deciding that’s enough chatting with him, you toss strips of chicken into a hot skillet.

“Well, if you won’t allow me to help you cook, I’ll take up dish duty then.”

“Wait—” By the time you face him, Jeffrey is shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over a bar stool. He winks at you before lathering up the sponge.

“Jeffrey,” is all you can say in disapproval, helplessly watching him scrub down the few dishes in the sink.

“Bella?”

You hate the way his dark brow raises in a challenge, because you both know who’ll win; you may be able to spar with him in mind and wit, but that’s just what he wants, so in the end he’s the one gaining all the points. Your mouth opens, not a sound produces, and you close your lips.

“Darlin’, just let me be a fucking gentleman and help a lady out.”

You continue cooking the chicken. “Because chivalry isn’t dead?”

He laughs, rinsing the suds off the dishes. “Anyone ever told _you_ what a mouth you got?”

You feign shock. “Of course I have a mouth; I must be severely disfigured if this isn’t considered a mouth,” you say, pointing to said body part. You expect him to laugh again, but he doesn't this time. All he manages is a tender grin that shows off his dimples and warms his entirety.

“I’ve met all kinds of women: shy ones, flirty ones, bold ones, never a funny one who isn't purposely trying to charm me, though.” He rubs his nape, looks to the floor before clashing eyes with you, and for once you can see the genuinity behind that quirk of lips and the glimmer of his gold-brown hazel irises.

You find yourself dumbfounded by his confession. Oh. Oh, no. You force out a chuckle, pouring in spices and cream into the skillet. “It’s called being witty, not funny, silly Jeff.”

He crosses his muscled arms, lips twitching wider at the nickname. “Same difference?”

Okay, you chuckle at that one. Just then, the front door opens and Arianna announces her and Andrew’s homecoming with a loud vibrato. You immediately close up, feeling guilty for chatting with Jeffrey. It’s not as if you were flirting with him, but he most certainly was expressing coquettish subtlety while you responded with mutual banter. Maybe it’s time to move out after all.

“Alright, we got some Chardonnay to spice up tonight’s dinner!” Arianna proudly exclaims, placing said wine bottle on the island. Andrew follows closely behind, sending a flirty smile your way, which you hesitantly return, without the flirtatious factor.

You suddenly remember your conversation with Jeffrey concerning that good-for-nothing roommate of yours. You turn the heat down for the pan and whip around to pinpoint her with a vicious glare. Both her and her lovers freeze in a place, Jeffrey only inches apart from kissing her in greeting while Andrew is in the middle of opening the cupboard.

“Arianna Ginevra Bellincioni!” you growl with the best Italian pronunciation you can manage. After so many times of scolding her, you’ve become pretty good at it. So focused on the red-handed Arianna, you pay no mind to the men who exchange slow looks. You think they might have murmured something about the allure of the accent lilting your words, but you aren’t too concerned right now.

The blonde woman flinches. “W-what?” she garbles out, hastily retreating to hide behind her lovers’ huge frames. That in no way hinders your determination to get your hands on her. The men even part slightly when you stomp toward them, your eyes narrowed on your roommate.

“You said you wouldn’t skip out on work anymore!” You dart to one side of Andrew, Arianna slides to Jeffrey’s side, and it turns into a back and forth chase with the men being the only obstacle. Your friend looks offended, whipping to point her wide eyes on Jeffrey.

“You told her?!”

He holds his hands up, trying not to explode in laughter at the events playing out. “She asked. I was in no position to keep it from her, and she held me at knife point.”

“Don’t you dare put the blame on me! And as if that flimsy piece of metal would do anything. You’d disarm me before I could even get a poke at you,” you scoff.

“Damn right I would. I’d enjoy it, too.” He throws you a wicked grin.

“Having fun without me already?” Andrew nudges his elbow into Jeffrey’s arm.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Arianna reminds the two men.

Suddenly you come to an eerily calm halt. You compose your previous scowl and say, “On second thought, let me just toss your heels.” You round the trio, striding toward Arianna’s room. Your movements provoke a horrifying shriek from her, grabbing hold of your shoulders in a vice grip and shoving you to the men’s clutches, and making a quick escape to guard her room.

They catch you before you fall, bringing you into their strong arms. “Whoa there, sweetheart,” Andrew whistles. Even when you’re balanced on your own feet, they still keep you caged between them, and you aren’t sure if they’re doing so to keep you from chasing after Arianna or if it’s for their own pleasure.

Too exhausted to struggle, you heave out a sigh. Tonight is going to be long. “Alright, alright.” You resist against their ever tightening and controlling grip, making you remember how intimidated you should be being alone with just the two of them. “Unless you don’t want dinner, let me go. Otherwise, I’m more than content letting you two finish what I started while I kick my feet up and help myself to a glass of wine.”

They only laugh at your expense, refusing to loosen up. “Why don’t you teach us how to cook whatever it is you’ve got going on the stove?” Jeffrey gives you a playful shake, twirling you so you’re facing their chests.

Andrew tilts an eyebrow up. “It’s smells damn delicious. Can’t wait to eat.”

“Oh, I'm sure we can happily share.”

You swallow thickly, forgetting why you’re angry in the first place. You feel pathetically small in between those two troublemakers and under their intense eyes that remain on you as they casually speak. Abruptly, you jut your chin over your shoulder and call out to Arianna, “If you don’t get your ass out here, I’m either stealing your men or kicking them out!”

That somehow coaxes Arianna out of her room. She barges out, looking like a madwoman. In a matter of moments, the blonde woman whisks her men away from you and back into the living room, giving you the opportunity to finish cooking. Dinner is strangely pleasant, not that you engage much into the conversation, letting the others take control of the talk. Now isn’t the right time to scold Arianna, so you’ll let her have her time with her lovers before whipping her ass about skipping work. As soon as eating and chatter are over, you immediately begin cleaning after everyone. You won’t admit to it anyone, but you’re thankful Jeffrey washed those dishes for you.

In the distance, you can hear Arianna expressing her sorrow in seeing them leave. It’s about time they do. You aren’t sure how much you can take being in the same room as them. You just cross your fingers that your roommate won’t beg to see them again, and you especially hope they don’t agree with her. You spoke too soon. . .

“I’d love to see you guys again, and I’m sure Bella would, too.” Arianna puts that little flavor into her voice that’ll have a man on his knees doing her every bidding. You peek around the kitchen corner and into the hallway.

“Well,” Jeffrey suddenly looks up and catches your eyes. He cements you with his stare alone, and as much as you want to retreat back, you can’t, whether in fear or stubbornness, you don’t know. “Dinner was pretty damn good, right Andrew?”

“Shit, I’d give anything to eat like that every night,” Andrew glances at you from his bowed head, smiles, and looks away.

_No._

“Come for dinner next time? This Friday?” Arianna pleads.

_No, no, no._

As if they can see your internal disagreement, both men spare you a brief glimpse, and your world ends.

“Why the hell not?”

“Friday it is.”

Arianna kisses each good night and they leave with one last look that sends you spiraling.

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not continue. . .Also pretty sure there might be some mistakes. Feel free to let me know, thanks.


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